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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22651009">Time Heals</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/DementedPixie/pseuds/DementedPixie'>DementedPixie</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Demented Pixie's Pros Fic [19]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Always and Everyone, Robin of Sherwood (TV 1984), The Professionals (TV 1977)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Crossover, Hurt/Comfort, M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-29 04:32:55</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,030</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22651009</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/DementedPixie/pseuds/DementedPixie</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It was a very strange day at St Vincent's Hospital</p><p>PLEASE DO NOT RE-POST THIS STORY ON ANY OTHER PLATFORM.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Philip Mark/Dr Robert Kingsford</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Demented Pixie's Pros Fic [19]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1264832</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Time Heals</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>My name is Demented Pixie and I’m a Pros fan, but that hasn’t always been my name. If you knew me as In Love With Both and you’re a friend, then you’ll already know why I left the fandom some years back. But, hey, a girl can change her mind, and I have therefore decided to re-share my Professionals fanfiction on this amazing Archive – no changes, no improvements, no alterations. I’ll be posting them just as they were written. No comments, no trolls, and no betas. Just me and my stories.  I’m sharing them so that they can take their place in the archive, but I’m also sharing them for the Pros generation, for those future generations yet to discover Bodie and Doyle, and for Sandra, who has never ceased waving pompoms for all Pros fanfiction writers.<br/>The following story was written by me in 2015.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Time Heals</p><p>By ILWB</p><p>It was a sunny day. I remember that much. And he was a pretty boy, yes, far younger and prettier than I had imagined he would be. This...Robin Hood. Blond, slim, almost effeminate in appearance. I simply could not imagine how he had been capable of causing so much trouble for so long. </p><p>It was a shame he was going to have to die. I remember thinking that as I stroked the side of his face. I am sure I could have found many uses for him, should I have been given the opportunity. After all, I had already developed a taste for blonds with this Sir Guy of Gisburne I seemed to have inherited. </p><p>However, my trusty manservant Sarak had a role to play and I was hardly about to prevent him. When Robin Hood was out of the way once and for all I would at long last be secure in my new position as the Sheriff of Nottingham. </p><p>As Sarak took his place in the courtyard I felt nothing but confidence in my man - this man who had served me so well over the years. I had no sense of portent, no warning of the doom about to befall me. It happened so incredibly fast and yet, to me, it seemed as if the action slowed to half of real time. One moment both men stood before me about to take part in a duel to the death. And the next Sarak, the man I entrusted with my life, launched his sword directly at me. </p><p>But it wasn’t Sarak. </p><p>As realisation dawned within me the sun darkened, a solar eclipse blotting out the brightness of the day. The agony clawed at my being, at my very soul. </p><p>And my world turned scarlet. </p><p>******</p><p>The team at St. Victors had just finished clearing up after a particularly messy road traffic accident that had left three people seriously injured. Dr Robert Kingsford, the charismatic leader of the department, had been working steadily for many hours without a break and, after finally sending all three patients on for the next stage in their treatment and desperate for a recharge of his own personal batteries, had finally managed to sneak outside for a quick cigarette. </p><p>‘The usual procession of the unlucky and the irresponsible’ </p><p>He dragged hard on the cigarette, inhaling the nicotine gratefully. He looked up at the sunshine glinting through the trees. It had been a really nice day outside and he hadn’t even had a chance to notice. </p><p>A couple of minutes was all he would allow himself and, knowing there were still things to do inside, he threw the unfinished half onto the floor and stamped his foot on it, rubbing it with his boot to make sure it was extinguished.</p><p>Resigned to an ever lengthening shift stretching before him, he walked back through the double doors that led into the A and E department. </p><p>Focussing entirely on getting his reports written before the next emergency hit, he turned the corner near his office and was brought up short by what he saw there. He froze, blinking his eyes in shock. Collapsed in the corridor outside his office door was a man dressed in medieval costume, a sword sticking out of his chest with blood seeping out around him. </p><p>“My God,” whispered Robert, before springing into action. “Crash team!” he shouted at the top of his voice as he fell to the man’s side to assess his injuries. The sword, yes, a real sword, was still deeply embedded and the man was losing a lot of blood. Robert checked his vital signs - that he had a pulse, that his airway was clear - and in a matter of seconds he became aware of the other members of his team bustling around him bringing various pieces of equipment and a trolley.</p><p>“Robert?” asked Christine, her voice shocked as she took in the scene.</p><p>“Get him up on the trolley and into A and E,” instructed Robert. “We need to get that,” he pointed for emphasis, “out of him then we can stabilise him. He’ll need a scan to determine the damage, get it booked will you?”</p><p>“Right.” As Christine turned away to carry out his instructions other members of the team worked together to get the man up on the trolley, rolling him gently onto a stretcher and then lifting to Robert’s count. Quickly and efficiently they wheeled the trolley through to the main treatment area and Robert stepped immediately into his usual role. </p><p>“My name’s Robert Kingsford, can you hear me?”</p><p>The man groaned in reply, his eyes fluttering half open.</p><p>“What’s your name?” asked Robert.</p><p>“Phillip...” the voice was very weak but cultured tones still came through. “Phillip Mark.”</p><p>Robert was pleased he’d got a response. “Phillip, I’m just going to put a needle in your arm, okay?”</p><p>“A what...?” The patient frowned in apparent confusion. </p><p>“Phillip, listen to me. You’ve been stabbed. Do you remember what happened?”</p><p>“I was betrayed.” Phillip gasped in pain. “That wolf’s head Robin Hood. I must... get back.” He tried to sit up but was pushed back by a gentle but firm hand. </p><p>Christine looked across at Robert in surprise as he stoically refrained from commenting - not even a hint of a smile crossed his face. He shook his head at her. This wasn’t the time.  </p><p>“You’re not going anywhere until we sort you out,” said Robert, moving aside as Christine cut through the leather costume with a pair of strong scissors. “What was it, a battle re-enactment?”</p><p>“A battle,” agreed Phillip, faintly. </p><p>“I thought they used fake swords for things like that,” commented Robert, as he worked around the weapon to assess the wound. “Right, Phillip. Listen to me. We’ve got to get the sword out and then we’ll be able to see what damage it’s done. We can help you - just work with us, alright?”</p><p>About to step away from the trolley his movement was halted by a hand gripping firmly on his forearm.  “Surgeon. You can save me?”</p><p>Robert looked down at the hand, the leather sleeve, the elaborate ring on the middle ringer. “If you give us a chance, yes, I think so.” </p><p>“Then all is not lost.” Phillip seemed relieved as he released Robert’s arm from his grip. </p><p>“Not at all,” agreed Robert. “Now don’t worry, I’ll be right back.”</p><p>For a moment Phillip’s eyes stared up in confusion at the bright lights in the ceiling then his eyelids dropped closed again as he surrendered to unconsciousness. </p><p>******</p><p>“So what happened to the body, Robin?” asked Marion.</p><p>“Who cares?” interrupted Will. “We beat him, didn’t we?”</p><p>“Nasir beat him,” said Robin, looking across at his friend who was sat quietly by the fire. “Without him I’d probably be dead by now.”</p><p>Marion stood up, frustrated at being ignored. “You don’t understand,” she said, demanding and at last receiving their attention.”When I looked, the body had gone. Phillip Mark had disappeared.”</p><p>“Grave robbers?” suggested Will, with a shrug. </p><p>“A trick of the Sheriff’s?” said Robin.</p><p>“Or perhaps,” said Friar Tuck, leaning forward into the firelight, “divine retribution.”</p><p>Marion returned to the fireside, pulling her shawl around her shoulders. “It doesn’t feel right that there wasn’t a body,” she whispered.<br/>
******</p><p>As Chief Consultant of the Accident and Emergency department, Dr Robert Kingsford rarely had the time to follow up on the patients who passed through his care. Assess them, fix them, pass them on – get ready for the next batch. Occasionally some thoughtful soul would come back with a box of chocolates a few weeks later to thank the staff who had saved their life, but usually the last sight A and E saw of a person was the soles of their feet as they were taken away on a trolley for surgery or to be placed on a ward. </p><p>This time, Robert was determined it would be different. He had worked bloody hard to save Phillip Mark’s life. He and his team had struggled to remove the deeply embedded sword and used all their skills to stem the bleeding and prepare the man for surgery. </p><p>Greatly intrigued, Robert had even scrubbed up and used his elevated position in the hospital hierarchy to gain admittance to the operating theatre to watch as the surgeon’s worked to save Phillip’s life. </p><p>Finally, after the replacement of many pints of blood and the loss of his spleen, the patient was sewn up and removed to Post Op, followed closely by a still curious Robert Kingsford. </p><p>He had come off shift two hours ago but, for some reason, he didn’t want to leave yet. Pulling up a hard plastic chair he sat by Phillip’s bed, watching him with interest. Knowing the rules about patient’s belongings but unable to stop himself, he pulled out the large hospital carrier bag that had been pushed down the side of the bed and opened it. </p><p>If this was a battle re-enactor, he was a very dedicated one. The clothes were so authentic. Leather trousers sewn by hand, a heavy leather coat, a leather belt with a hand worked metal clasp, a soft, muslin under tunic. A smaller plastic bag contained the large ring Robert had noticed back in A and E. Everything had been crafted to look as it would have done in the middle ages. There was a suede money bag too and, unable to resist, Robert tipped the contents out into his hand, fully expecting to find modern coins of the realm. Instead it contained ancient gold pieces that he almost dropped in his surprise. They were very obviously many hundreds of years old. </p><p>Almost as interesting as the things that were present in the bag was the lack of things - no modern paraphernalia at all, no wallet, no ID, no mobile phone. Not even a comb.</p><p>Robert had a friend who dressed up as a Viking at the weekends and he knew the effort they all went to in order to look realistic, but this guy had taken things to a whole new level. </p><p>Carefully, he put the belongings back in the carrier bag and returned all the coins to the purse. Finally, he tucked the purse inside the sleeve of the leather jacket so that it wouldn’t be seen by anybody else. </p><p>His curiosity fully piqued now, he reached out to take Phillip’s hand. You could tell a lot from a man’s hands. This hand, Robert decided, was not that of a gentleman. This man had worked hard during his life. His nails were clean and nicely shaped but the fingers looked strong. The back of the hand was weather beaten and tanned and, Robert recognised in surprise, the outer edge of the index finger had a callus common with those who rode horses regularly. </p><p>His ran his own finger along the edge of Phillip’s, almost dropping the hand in shock when the fingers began to tentatively close. Recovering quickly he slipped his hand inside Phillips and squeezed it lightly. When people were coming around from an operation this was often their first point of contact and Robert didn’t feel he should deny Phillip Mark of this, just because he was here alone. The squeeze was returned, if weakly, so Robert leaned forward towards his patient.</p><p>“Phillip? Can you hear me?”</p><p>Long eyelashes flickered and finally opened to reveal deep blue eyes that Robert hadn’t had time to notice before. </p><p>“Yes.” Phillip’s voice was croaky and Robert let go of his hand for a moment to get him a drink of water from the jug on the table.  With one hand behind Phillip’s head to help him raise himself a tiny bit, he held the cup to the man’s lips and allowed him a small drink. When a splash of water trickled down Phillip’s chin, Robert pulled his striped handkerchief out of his pocket and dabbed at the spillage. Then he put the cup on the side and resumed his position by the bed, clasping Phillip’s hand once more. </p><p>“How are you feeling?” he asked.</p><p>“As if I have been cut to ribbons,” came the weak yet honest reply.</p><p>Robert smiled. “Well that’s a very good description. But I think we’ve got you on the road to recovery now.”</p><p>“You are...” the blue eyes crinkled in confusion, “the surgeon?”</p><p>“I’m Doctor Robert Kingsford. I’m not surprised you don’t remember me, you were in a bit of a state when we last met.”</p><p>Phillip’s other hand moved across and reached out towards Robert, running his finger down his face tenderly. “Oh, I do remember you. You told me not to worry.”</p><p>Robert blushed a little but didn’t move away. “That’s right.”</p><p>Phillip’s hand dropped back again, he was obviously still very weak. “I do not understand how this has happened.”</p><p>Robert couldn’t deny the confusion in the face looking up at him. “You were stabbed,” he explained. “You lost a lot of blood and needed an operation. But you’re going to be okay now.”</p><p>Phillip’s eyes darted around the room, taking in the stark walls and crisp white bedding. “But where am I?” </p><p>“St Victor’s Hospital. I work here.”</p><p>“Who brought me here?”</p><p>“Ah, well that I can’t answer. I found you collapsed outside my office.”</p><p>Phillip’s brow creased as he thought things through. “Were you sent by the King?”</p><p>Robert smiled. “Not that I know of.”</p><p>“Then, God?”</p><p>Robert chuckled at the thought. “Well, something like that. I’ve always wanted to help people. Maybe the skills I have are a gift from God, who knows?”</p><p>Phillip still looked uncertain. “The Surgeons I know are naught but butchers who use tricks and witchcraft.”</p><p>“Then you’re going to the wrong doctors,” said Robert, a twinkle in his eye. </p><p>“You have saved me.”</p><p>“It’s my job,” Robert shrugged his shoulders noncommittally. </p><p>“And this,” said Phillip, squeezing Robert’s hand gently. “This is your job too?”</p><p>“Well, no. Not usually.” Robert blushed again. “But I wanted to make sure you were okay.”</p><p>“Tis surely more than a mere job if you save a man’s life. I should have died,” said Phillip, shakily. “I think...I did die.”</p><p>“It’s common to feel confused after something like this. But I can assure you, you didn’t die.”</p><p>“Then,” Phillip’s expression cleared a little as an important realisation came to him. “I can return to Nottingham. I can reclaim my position.”</p><p>Robert nodded. “Yes, you can go home just as soon as you’re strong enough. Talking of home, is there anyone I can contact for you? You’ll need some clean clothes.”</p><p>Phillip’s proud chin came forward in an obvious attempt to disguise his feelings. “There is no-one, not now.”</p><p>“Okay.” Robert looked him over, tactfully. “Well, we’re not that dissimilar in size, I’ll bring you some of my things from home when I come back later.”</p><p>Robert felt his hand being squeezed again. “You are leaving me now, Robert?”</p><p>“Not for long, but yes. I promise I’ll come back in a few hours. Get some sleep, okay? It’ll do you good.”</p><p>This time the pressure on Robert’s hand increased so much it was almost uncomfortable and he looked up straight into those deep blue eyes. “I will never forget you, Doctor Robert Kingsford.”</p><p>“It’s what I do,” said Robert, awkwardly returning the squeeze with one hand, while his other reached out to gently stroke Phillip’s hair back from his forehead. “But if it’s any comfort, I don’t think I’m going to forget you in a hurry either.”</p><p>******</p><p>Whatever Dr Kingsford expected on his return, it wasn’t to find an empty bed. His heart suddenly pumping he ran out into the corridor to the nurse’s station. </p><p>“What happened to the patient from room 7?” he asked. </p><p>The nurse looked up from the computer terminal. “What patient?” she asked. “Room 7 has been empty since yesterday morning.”</p><p>“No!” Robert thumped his fist on the counter. “The guy with the stab wound. The weird bloke in the black leather gear. Check again!”</p><p>“There’s no need to be like that,” she replied, tapping into the computer again. “I simply don’t know who you’re talking about.” </p><p>“Is there a problem, Robert?” came the deep tones of the Chief Surgeon who had just arrived for his shift. </p><p>Robert turned towards him, desperation clear on his face. “The man in room 7 has gone. There’s no way he’s fit enough.”</p><p>“Which man?” asked the Surgeon.</p><p>“The stab wound, the battle re-enactor.” Robert turned and ran back into the room where he stood inside the door, breathing heavily. He ran his hand through his short hair, shaking his head in disbelief. In a burst of frustration he picked up the mattress and flung it backwards, shoving it off the bed in one go. As the nurse came to the door behind him he heard something metallic hit the floor and he fell to his knees, his hand grabbing at the metal object he found there. </p><p>It was Phillip’s ring. </p><p>******</p><p>I feel, considering all I have been through just lately, that it is rather apt that the sun should still be shining upon my return. </p><p>All appears quiet, the late afternoon sun is making the livestock sleepy, the trade for the day is evidently over. The cluster of ramshackle dwellings that surround the Castle walls seem like old friends as I approach.</p><p>I feel stronger than I have ever felt before. I have died and returned, aided, it appears, by the servant of God himself. </p><p>I am evidently indestructible and all will now bow to my power. </p><p>Nottingham Castle stretches out before me, mine for the taking. I need only do one last thing before I take what is rightfully mine. Retrieving the blue and white striped handkerchief that I now keep with me at all times, I hold it up to my face and breathe in the scent of my very own angel of mercy. </p><p>The large oak door of the castle is normally heavy but to me it feels as light as a feather.</p><p>Sir Guy of Gisburne, Robert De Rainault and even Robin Hood himself should quake in their boots. </p><p>I have returned.</p>
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